


stun-gun lullabies

by orphan_account



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Nail Polish, go prompt meme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-13 09:47:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19248709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The one where Aziraphale paints Crowley's nails after quite extraordinary amounts of alcohol have been consumed.





	stun-gun lullabies

**Author's Note:**

> for an anon prompt in the go prompt meme!

“ _Are you done yet?_ ” 

 

“Almost, dear.” 

 

“How much longeeer?” Crowley whines, like an impatient five year-old who’s been shoved in the backseat of an SUV for a family road trip. He’s more than a little bit drunk — they _both_ are — and while he _could_ just miracle the alcohol out of his system... a part of him doesn’t want to. 

 

“I don’t _know_ , my _darling_ ,” Aziraphale garbles in response, his tone filled with the subtle irritation of one who has said so for the zillionth time. (If Crowley was the whining child, then Aziraphale was the peeved father who was driving the SUV and running on six cans of Mountain Dew.) “The less you _f-fidget_ , the quicker I can get them done.” 

 

“I’m not _fidgeting_ ,” Crowley snaps, but his fingers give a drunken twitch as soon as the words come out, as if proving him wrong. Aziraphale’s little brush accidentally slips up because of the spasm (though it had already been quite shaky), and some teal polish ends up getting smeared over the upper half of Crowley’s fingers. 

 

The angel sends him an amused look that’s somewhere between ‘ _what was that you were saying?_ ’ and ‘ _i told you so, you old serpent, you!_ ’, and Crowley rolls his eyes. “Ssshut up.” 

 

Aziraphale only giggles in that way of his — bubblier than the bottle of champagne they’d shared earlier, the bottle that had brought them here. “I didn’t even _say_ anything!” 

 

Crowley scowls at him and tries to narrow his eyes, but the attempt makes his head throb, so instead he grumbles, “Yeah, well, you were thinking it.” 

 

“Nonono, I wasn’t!” Aziraphale’s words are knocking into each other. “You really must stop assuming things, my dear boy-o. It’s terribly incomp— in-incop—”

 

“You _were_ , I _know_ you were!” Crowley argues weakly. He chooses not to comment on Aziraphale’s use of ‘boy-o’. “You’re a pretty— pretty judgmental bastard, you know, for an angle.” 

 

Aziraphale frowns. “ _Angle_? I... I know I may seem _obtuse_ to some, Crowley, but isn’t that a bit—”

 

“ _Angel_. I meant t’say _angel_ , angel.” 

 

“Oh.” Aziraphale knits his eyebrows. His voice climbs up an octave, even higher than it had been beforehand, thanks to the alcohol in his system. “ _I’m_ judgmental? _Me_?”

 

“Yeh,” Crowley slurs. “And- and _gay_. You’re a fucking— fucking gay, judgmental angel.” 

 

“That’s rather... rude of you to say, Crowley.” 

 

“S’true, though, innit?” 

 

Aziraphale contemplates this, and then shrugs, dipping the little brush into the paint bottle. “Whatever floats your canoe.” 

 

“ _Boat_ , Azsssiraphale, whatever floats your _boat_.” 

 

“That’s what I said!” 

 

“ _No_ , that’s not— _ugh_. Just shut up and paint my bloody nails, will you?” 

 

Crowley had insisted on painting them black (“ _It’s the grunge aesthetic, angel, they go in for that sort of thing these days_.”), but Aziraphale was having none of it, oh no. After a long and thorough argument (which wasn’t really _that_ long — having lasted for all of five minutes — because Crowley could never argue with Aziraphale for much time surpassing that), they had come to a sort of _agreement_ : Crowley would let Aziraphale paint his nails in any colour that he wished, brokering no argument, so long as Aziraphale permitted him to do the same afterwards. 

 

It had _seemed_ like a pretty good deal to his drunken mind back then, when Crowley had been entertaining thoughts about Aziraphale with blood-red nails and even _bloodier_ -red lips. 

 

It had _stopped_ seeming like a good deal, however, when Aziraphale had ventured into his flat upstairs and brought out the tiny bottle of nail polish labelled _Tenacious Teal_ ; a shade which was as bright and happy and gay as the smile which had been stretched across Aziraphale’s lips as he presented it to Crowley. 

 

“Ah! All done!” The angel beams, and then leans back to admire his work. Crowley does the same, and gives his wet fingernails a Look, which causes them to dry instantly. 

 

They’re not as... _neat_ as they could’ve been, if he’d gotten them done at a parlour. But his nails hadn’t been that sharp to begin with, anyway, because nail-biting was a terribly human habit that he’d picked up somewhere along the line. So Aziraphale had done his best with what he’d got, painting over Crowley’s chipped nails in a manner that would’ve been expert if he wasn’t pissed. 

 

They... didn’t look half bad, though. He’d rather bathe in a vat of holy water than admit it, but they were _actually_ kind of—

 

“ _Cute_ ,” Aziraphale giggles, as if he’d read Crowley’s mind. He reaches over and grabs the demon’s hands, holding them in his own softer ones, and brings them up to his lips. As he mauls the tips of Crowley’s fingers with little drunken kisses, the angel mumbles, “Oh, my dearest darling. My l-lovely love. My sweet, stunning—”

 

Crowley feels his face flush at the continuous onslaught of praise. He’d banished the alcohol from his system quite some time ago, but Aziraphale _hadn’t_ , and well... Crowley doesn’t have the heart to stop him, nor does he have the heart to protest the soppy words Aziraphale’s linking him with. He doesn’t have the heart to deny Aziraphale _anything_ , really, but it’s even harder to do so when the angel is plastered. 

 

So instead, he miracles another bottle of Möet & Chandon for them, turns Aziraphale’s casing of _Tenacious Teal_ into a more appealing shade of _Seductive Scarlet_ , hauls the angel into his arms, and hisses, “ _Your turn._ ”


End file.
